Is anyone else nauseated by the "what if...you found hope in the most unexpected places" promos HBO runs? With the swelling music and dialogue-free shots that are meant to imply great emotion and grand gestures that come from important moments in the human struggle? My b.f. said that they're as unreal as Velveeta. He said, "It's like in a movie when a character makes a speech, then there's silence, then one person starts clapping really slowly, then other people join in the clapping. That shit never happens." And none of us need to think we can find hope in a goddamn HBO show. Like, maybe it's a shame HBO can't win any Oscars, because you know they could woo the shit out of the Academy with a trailer like that. Boo fucking hoo.
Cha cha cha cha, the cre-dits, they have changed, doo doo doo doo, to ed-it out the towers...the xylophone barely noticed. But we did. Sigh. Cha cha, splashy bus.
A saxophone blows sultrily. You know what that means. S-E-X. Except, in this case, not. It means a montage of boxes crammed into Carrie's apartment. Yes, Aidan has moved in. Carrie VOs that two halves make a whole. The saxophone swells again. We zoom over boxes some more, and land at Carrie struggling to get through her front door. She VOs some more that "when two halves move in together, it makes a whole lot of stuff." Ba dump dump. She smooshes her way through the door and Aidan, parked at a desk-type thing, greets her with a "hey gumdrop, where ya been and whatcha been doing?" Sweet. Carrie, in black flip-flops, sheer white tee, black bra, and yellow slip skirt (anchor necklace gets a shout-out too) points out that Aidan's new workspace is blocking the bathroom door. Aidan points out there are two bathroom doors, and only one is blocked. Carrie anxiously says she needs both doors, since it's convenient and also an escape route from her bedroom should a rapist enter her bedroom window. She makes a "boing" noise for emphasis. Aidan says there's a lot of "boing-ing" going on in that bathroom. Yeah, there is. But better that than the sound of exploding ass. She's all, fix it fix it fix it! Now now now! He reminds her that the closing is week and to chill. Out. She laughs it off with a "it's just boxes, right?" Then she sees a plant.
Breakfast with the girls brings this tirade: "A PLANT! The man brought a living thing into my apartment. He's taking over whole areas!" Miranda is all, "You said yes to moving in." Sam says this is why she's never lived with a man -- that, plus the fact she wants them out an hour after she climaxes. Mir is surprised that they get to stay a whole hour. Sam says most of her conquests can "go again after a quick catnap." Carrie is all, back to me now, and complains about Aidan greeting her with his "who'd you meet, whaddya know!" routine. She "needs time to decompress. To just be alone." She bobs her head, agreeing with herself. Oh, eff that, Carrie. Why'd you take the ring? Do you think most marrieds get to walk into an isolation booth when they arrive home? No. Family is other people. You're lucky to have one. Get used to it, oh selfish one. And I so rankle at the word "decompress," since an old b.f. used to use it. After almost every outing with that guy, before we went back to his place, he had to go to a diner, then watch about an hour of TV or so to "decompress" before going to bed. But if we went to my place? I didn't get to turn the TV on. Because it bugged him. Too high maintenance. And fussy. And it would usually result in us not having good sex. Because he had his own agenda, see? This same guy would have to play a theme song (usually the Buzzcocks or Bis) before GOING OUT, to "rev himself up" or some such nonsense. So I'd have my coat on, and he'd be, "Oh, just a minute," and he'd play his song and bop around while I stood there, waiting for him. I was embarrassed. Not making it up, people.
Anyway, Charlotte points out that living together usually requires a period of adjustment. Carrie says she misses walking into her empty apartment and having that time for her S.S.B., or "secret single behavior." Sam is all, "Like masturbate?" No, Carrie means eating a bunch of crackers with jelly or whatever. Char says she used to examine her pores for an hour each night before Trey and she got hitched. Mir says she likes to deep-condition her hands and watch infomercials. Hee. I know I'll eat less cheese doodles when my b.f. moves in. They are the stupidest, most artificial snack ever. It'll be salsa and chips from then on. Baked chips. With soy protein. Really. Sam says she has no such quirks, and does nothing she wouldn't want a man to see. Mir believes her. So do I. That woman is shameless, and I mean that in a good way. Besides, it's not like she ever home-waxes or anything. Her phone rings, and it's Dick, a.k.a. Richard, her boss whom she screwed on the plane. All the girls look very interested as she complains that it's Sunday, but she'll drop off those papers in an hour since he needs them so badly. Carrie is all, "Skyrockets in flight, afternoon delight?" More like "boom, boom, boom, let's go back to my room." But Sam insists it's just work. And she doesn't want to talk about it. Say it with them, people. "WOOOOO! Samantha likes a guy!" They tease her. Sam gives up one detail -- that she loves Dick's dick. "It's long, pink, perfect. It's dick-a-licious!" Carrie is all, back to me now, again: "What about Aidan's stuff?"
Charlotte and Trey are having a meal. She says she wants to have the girls over for dinner. He's all, "That sounds nice!" But Char says he's not invited; it's a girl's night only. That's a little uncool to do when you're married, I think. The husband gets all displaced. Why not have dinner out? Well, it's her house too. Char is "trying to get [her] dayplanner back together, since [they're] no longer on the baby track." We get an aerial shot of her and Trey on opposite sides of their long dining room table, with clutter between them filling up the spaces in the already-thick tension. Char trills how odd it is now, with a baby room but no baby to put in it, ha ha! Trey says he has some good news: he may have orchestra seats to The Producers. Starring the husband of guess who. That's a little too meta for me, but whatever, it's not like there's anything else good on Broadway now. Oh wait: Proof. But that's hardly a comedy. And Trey wants Char to know that "life goes on," with or without a baby, and that they "have to find a way to have a giggle." He's so stiff and WASP-y, he sounds almost British. I want to hear him say "veddy propah," or "jolly good kippers, wot?" He asks Char to show him a smile, and she makes a really funny kind of grimace like, "I'll humor you, but WTF?"
Sam, wearing a sultry green dress, sashays into her beloved Dick's office (which is bustling yet airy), and tells him how to say "fuck you" to a German client he has on the line: "Fick mich." Which is actually "fuck me," she remembers, but Dick laughs it off. The papers are delivered, and then Dick hands her a beautiful "long, pink, amazing" rose. Sam kvells over it. But she also looks a little scared. So she offers to blow him right there in his office, which of course has a wall made all of glass so anyone can see in. She drops her portfolio on purpose, bends down to get it, swivels Dick's chair around, and says, "Das es einen shoenen perfecten schwanz," which I believe translates to "these are perfect shoes for swans."
So, Miranda just had a blind date with a pretty hot guy. She says that if she had known he was going to be "so not a loser," she would have changed clothes after work. He adds, "And put on deodorant?" She socks him. They kiss, and his hand trails down her neck, past her breast, and down her faintly bulging stomach. She jumps away. He doesn't seem notice; he's into her. So, can this multi-lingual fox see her again before jetting off to Brussels? Hmm.
The day, Miranda and Carrie are walking down the street. Mir's in a denim jumpsuit thing, which isn't bad, and Car's in an aqua tube top and gray skirt. Not bad either, but the Hermes scarf as an upper-arm bracelet? Never again, please. Mir asks if it's okay to have sex with a guy when you're pregnant with another guy's baby. Please let that be the question of the week. But no -- Carrie's all, "If one more person asks me that today!" Heh. Mir's worried that it's "tacky," and that the "poking" will hurt the baby. "What if he's huge? Will it dent the baby?" Carrie asks where Mir thinks dimples come from. Oh, Miranda, call your fucking OB-GYN and be done with it. The pregnant still get laid. Well, they'd better. If you can't fuck when with child, I am so totally adopting.
In front of Carrie's stoop, Pat Field hobbles out in her funny-old-people printed hat, colorful beads, and aqua top with roses. Oh wait, that's actually Mrs. Cohen, Carrie's soon-to-be-displaced neighbor whose apartment Aidan bought. Carrie helps her down the steps, which takes forever; then Mrs. Cohen barks that she won't be moving for another thirty days. Carrie's all, "What?" Because she's feeling cramped. Mrs. Cohen is all, "Read the contract!" and totters off.
Carrie walks through her door, and Aidan is all, "Hey, where ya been, whaddya know!" Carrie gets a little attitudinal as she relays the news of old Mrs. Cohen not leaving for thirty days. Aidan starts hopping up and down, screaming, "Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the fuck are we going to do now?!" Carrie is pleased that Aidan isn't thrilled about the term of extended crampiness either. Aidan says they have to make some room for all these boxes and shit. "We could make room for it if you clean out your closet…?" A gong sounds, and the camera zooms in on Carrie's shocked face.
Aidan trips down a ladder, his arms filled with shoeboxes. The shoeboxes, Carrie informs him, are to go on clean towels in the bathroom. Aidan asks how many pairs of shoes a person needs. Carrie says, "That is not the question to ask if you want to get out of this alive." Word. Aidan says he needs half of Carrie's closet space. And she never wears most of this stuff anyway. Car yells, "YET. I don't wear most of this stuff YET." He waves a Roberto Cavalli beige sheer top with raggy bits sewn on, and demands to know when and where she could wear that thing. She can recall the date and place the top debuted. Aidan looks bummed that she can't let go of a raggedy old top, and Carrie VOs that she's "holding onto an outfit, and losing a relationship." Seriously. I mean, I love my stuff, but I can make a sacrifice. It's called eBay; give it a spin. ["Give her a break. She practically just got email last week." -- Sars] Carrie walks into the bathroom and sees Petey the dog chewing on an aqua Manolo Blahnik heel. She. Freaks. OUT. The shoe is circa 1996, and can't be bought now. Again, dogs are dogs; they do dog stuff. I'd freak out for a few minutes, then stop. It's just stuff. You can't snuggle with a shoe. Well, some people do. Great, now I just grossed myself out. Anyway, Aidan apologizes for Pete, but asks what she expects "with all [her] shit lying around." Carrie screeches that her shit wouldn't be lying around if HIS shit weren't lying around. She grabs a box of his bathroom stuff, and asks if he's a "crazy bag man" that needs five deodorants ("they're different smells!" he says), old razors, Rogaine…Carrie didn't know he used Rogaine. Aidan screams that he doesn't want to talk about it, and Carrie VOs that guys have Secret Single Behavior too. Well, motherfucking duh! It's called porn! And, I don't know, maybe eating nothing but oatmeal for dinner. And air guitar. Oh no, Carrie told Aidan to shut up. This won't go well. Total meltdown, with lots of shut-ups back and forth, and Aidan kicking shoeboxes, and Carrie hollering that she's going for a walk so Aidan can put on his Speed Stick and his Rogaine with his shoe-eating dog for company.
Carrie hangs at Starbucks with her laptop for company. She wonders if everyone else there is also newly coupled, and in mid-fight. Because if you aren't like Carrie, what are you? Finally, we get to the question of the week: "What are we fighting for?"
Trey comes home with a surprise giftie for Charlotte. Now he sounds French: "Jasht a lit-tle seel-ly sahmthing." She opens it, and it's a cardboard cutout of a baby. Rather odd. He smiles; she does not. He tells her, "Now we can relax, because we have one." Char gets up and leaves, saying, "Don't talk to me."
Mir caps the Vaseline, puts on her conditioning gloves, mutes Ron Popeil, and calls her multilingual fox to set up a date. Friday night, her place? She's gonna get some booty.
Sam, in her apartment, smells the pink rose Dick gave her, sighs, then tosses it in the trash.
Carrie returns home, juiced up on lattes, ready to accept her man's apology and "admit how silly [she'd] been." How big of her! But he doesn't apologize. He just sniffs as she comes in. He's moved a bunch of his boxes, though. But now that she's got it, she doesn't seem to enjoy the silence, as she steps over Petey.
Dinner at Charlotte's. Carrie's ranting that it's been three days since she and Aidan have spoken. Jesus! I could never hold out that long. Carrie says she'll be damned if she apologizes first. Must I wonder again, WHY these two are getting married? I mean, it wouldn't kill Carrie to be the bigger person ONCE in her life, considering that they were both wrong and both said things they regretted. Char says she and Trey don't yell, since "WASPs don't yell. It's genetic!" Gag me with a white organdy dress. And a pink sash. Mir rushes though the salad, asking about the course. Carrie tells her to dial it back, but Miranda perks up when she hears it's beef with Thai noodles. Mir's date is tonight, hence the rush. Sam mentions that Richard is thinking of opening a hotel in Thailand, la la la! And she insists again that the only thing she likes about Richard is his "pink, perfect, rock-hard, throbbing dick." Isn't that what she likes about every guy? Oh, right -- she's trying to convince herself that she's not falling for this one, because Samantha Is Afraid Of Intimacy. She should get a tattoo on her ass that spells it out. Trey walks in. Whoops, he forgot he wasn't supposed to be home tonight. And he guesses Char told everyone about the cardboard baby. She hadn't. Well, he meant it to be funny. It wasn't. Char gets more and more upset as he keeps talking, trying to sell the girls on the idea that it's funny and "silly," and the girls exchange looks around the table. See, Trey, jokes have to be in context. Char illustrates my point by asking what would happen if she gave him "a cardboard cutout of a big, flaccid penis?" Trey charges out of the room, and Char runs after him, yelling that if he brings that "flat baby in here [she] will kill [him]!" Then, "total WASP's nest." Meltdown, WASP-style, which means fewer "shut ups" and "fucks," but more "you're spoileds" and "big babys!" Richard calls just then, and Samantha gratefully takes that as her cue to escape; the girls extract themselves and say goodnight.
Sam strolls onto Dick's poolside deck. What's so important, she wonders? This, he says, and gestures to a small table set for dinner, with wine. Sam looks slightly terrified. She says they need to get something straight -- she "wants no part of that." "That" being a romantic dinner for two. "That leads to a big screaming mess. We are work and sex, nothing more." Aww, poor Sam! She asks that he take off his pants and show her his dick. He asks that she go first. She drops her dress; he, his pants. For a fraction of an instant, we see cock. WOOO! I've been asking for more cock in movies for the last ten years. THANK GOD S&TC broke the cock barrier! Congratulations, everyone. time, can it be at least semi-hard? Thanks. ["You might want to start watching Oz. No shortage of cock there." -- Sars] Sam says, "That's what I'm talking about." Me too, woman! They dive into the pool, and we get a few more long shots of Dick's johnson. Yay!
Carrie comes home, crawls on top of Aidan, and apologizes. He does as well. Finally! They snuggle.
Trey and "his baby" are annexed to the guest room. And Charlotte can examine her pores as much as she wants now, because she doesn't care! Hooray!
Mir and her multilingual fox? Are fucking like beasts. "Fuck me! Fuck me like there's no tomorrow!" GO Miranda!
And Sam and her Dick emerge from the swimming pool at dawn, to fluffy robes and soft music. He asks her to dance. She's all, "What did I say?" He says he's her boss, and it's an order. She steps into his arms reluctantly. She looks uncomfortable, then reaches for his cock. He pulls her hand away and back up to his shoulder, and she gets tears in her eyes. Oh my god, me too! She's scared of feelings, and of feeling. She puts her head on his shoulder as Carrie VOs that Samantha was afraid of "her perfect dick being the perfect Richard." And the song they're dancing to is by Sade.
Carrie walks in the door, and her adorable fiancé greets her. "Where'd you go, who'd you see?" God, he's sweet. She flinches, then stands in front of him in her sheer white tank top, black bra, and black full skirt, and asks that he not talk to her for the first hour after she gets home. Because, you know, she needs to decompress and shit. Wow, I would so be out the door. How totally rude! But Aidan is a saint, and just says mm-hmm. She closes the curtains around her bed and asks that he consider her "not here, for one whole hour." So she parks in on the bed for a moment, then gets up and asks what Aidan's doing out there. She comes out and snuggles down in his lap. And the kicker? They manage to get through the remaining thirty days without killing each other, but the plant dies. Carrie tosses it in the trash as she skips out in her Roberto Cavalli top. Oh, that selfish, sassy girl.